Boy Entrant; The Recollections of a Royal Air Force Brat

by Brian Carlin

  * * *

  Next morning, we made the long trek to Station Headquarters on West Camp so that we could begin our Arrivals procedure. We were becoming quite the experts at this process by now, this being the fourth time we had either cleared from or arrived at a station within the short space of four weeks. Then, after returning our completed Arrival cards to the Station Orderly Room, we reported for duty to the E&I Section in Hangar 30.

  The E&I Section was housed in two separate physical locations—the Instrument “bashers” inhabited the servicing bay that opened off the hangar on the west side of the north fire-door hangar entrance, whilst electricians occupied the servicing bay that opened off the east wall. We actually had to report to the Instrument Section because that’s where the E&I Section office was located. There, we met Flight Sergeant Walker, the senior NCO in charge of the Electrical Flight. “Chiefy” Walker seemed a pleasant sort of man, burly of build and sporting a neatly clipped black moustache that completely covered his upper lip. He wore an aircrew brevet on his left breast, as did so many of the “command” senior NCOs of that era. It might have been a Flight Engineer’s brevet, but time has dimmed my recollection of its exact designation.

  Chiefy led us to the Electrical Flight, where he assigned Richard to the Aircraft Component Test Bay under the supervision of Les, a Junior Technician, whilst I was assigned to the Component Stripping and Servicing Bay in the room next door. My job was to dismantle aircraft electrical components—such as generators and voltage regulators—service and clean them and then pass them through a hatch in the wall, to be tested in the Test Bay. Technically, I was also under Les’ supervision, but in fact I worked more closely with a Senior Aircraftsman (SAC) who had almost completed his two-year stint of National Service. And it was from this individual that I learned most of what I needed to do. The room in which I worked also served as the “crew room” for the electrical mechanics and fitters who worked on the aircraft in the hangar. They were supervised by a sergeant and three corporals. Listening to their banter and chumminess made me feel that I wanted to be a part of the team, working with them out in the hangar, but what became increasingly clear to me was that neither Butterworth nor I were going to be allowed anywhere near an aircraft until we at least reached our eighteenth birthday.

  In September, six months after having passed out from St. Athan, we began visiting the Station Library every day to read the latest Personnel Occurrence Report (PORs). This was a daily list of the official promotions in rank and other significant occurrences for Cranwell-based personnel. The occurrence, whatever its nature, was effective only when it was published in PORs. We were anxiously anticipating our automatic promotion to Senior Aircraftsman so that we could start wearing our new badges of rank and, more importantly, receive the pay increase that went with it. Both promotions appeared a few days late by our estimate, but we soon forgot that on our way to the clothing store. There, citing the appropriate POR number as the authority, we requested the SAC badges so that we could replace the LAC badges that only six months previously had made us feel so proud.

  In February of 1959 I once again started making daily pilgrimages to the Station Library to check PORs. This time I went alone, because of the three months’ difference between my age and that of Richard. Having now reached my eighteenth birthday, I needed the official POR acknowledgement of my transition to the Regular Service before I could move out of the Boy Entrant barrack room and into the E&I Section barrack block.

  When it finally appeared, Richard helped me to move my kit to the new accommodation. It was like moving from a Victorian dungeon to a modern luxury hotel because, although the E&I barrack block was identical to the Boy Entrant block on the outside, it had been completely modernized inside. The cavernous barrack rooms had been divided into several comfortable smaller rooms, each housing no more than five men. I felt sad that Richard had to stay behind in the Boy Entrant billet for another three months, but there was nothing to be done except commiserate with him, knowing that he too would make the transition in just three more months.

  And so it was, that with very little ceremony, I finally made the official transition from Boy Entrant to Regular Airman—from boyhood to manhood.

  EPILOGUE

  For many years after passing out of Boy Entrant training, I made a conscious effort not to advertise the fact that I had been a “Brat”. There were two reasons for this.

  For one thing, my 18 month-long stay at St. Athan as a Boy Entrant had been anything but pleasant in the overall view and I would have preferred just to have forgotten all about it. Passing out and into the regular service was an enormous relief, even if fully-fledged official manhood took another few months to catch up with me.

  The other reason can be summed up in the word “Brat.” In general, the regular Royal Air Force did not welcome us with open arms. Instead, other servicemen most often referred to us scornfully as “brats” and sometimes, albeit less frequently, as “Trenchard’s bastards”. This reaction was probably due to the cocky attitude we had developed as a survival tool, during our eighteen-month long struggle to stay afloat in the world of Boy Entrants. The mistake was bringing it along with us into our new life, but we weren’t to know any better.

  After a “normalizing” period of several months, it seemed obvious that being an ex-Boy was not a helpful attribute when it came to integrating with other servicemen. So I consciously refrained from volunteering that information about my background and I suspect that most other ex-Boys did likewise.

  It wasn’t until many years later that I was mature enough to realize what a valuable contribution Boy Entrant training had made to the shaping of my life. Not that it was the be-all and end-all of everything, because it took me several more years to develop character and maturity, but it most certainly was the foundation. Nowadays, I fully believe that entering Boy Entrant service at the tender age of 15 was the most important step in my life. I also believe that many other former Boy Entrants would agree that this also holds true for them.

  What qualities did we graduate with, that perhaps weren’t there when we first joined?

  Being thrust out into an unforgiving world at the age of 15 years certainly had an impact. Although the RAF took on the parents’ role for our care, well-being and discipline, we quickly learned that there were no emotional strings attached. We had no one to turn to when the going got tough, therefore a sense of independence and self-reliance took root at an earlier age than may have happened had we remained at home with our families.

  The fact that most of us stuck it out for the full eighteen months points to the spirit of endurance with which most Boy Entrants were imbued, although it has to be admitted that not everyone stayed. For the majority of those who continued on to the conclusion of Boy Entrants’ training, self-respect was earned in passing out with the skills of a trade at our fingertips. This was something valuable that we had earned through our own hard work and endurance. Regardless of our origins, we knew that henceforth, we had the means to earn our own living.

  There may be a perception in the minds of some people that members of military organizations react blindly and unquestioningly to orders from those in authority and are incapable of independent thought. Nothing could be further from the truth. We were encouraged to use initiative and logic to think our way through the kind of problems that would confront us when we entered the regular Service. Being trained in the ability to “think on our feet’ was an important skill when it came to tracing the source of “snags”, often under extremely stressful conditions, on increasingly complex aircraft systems. Such ability remains with a person as a valuable asset when it comes to making one’s way in life after the RAF.

  The military discipline to which we were subjected made our lives difficult at first, but when accepted it made them easier. Eventually, the discipline became ingrained into our personal makeup, transforming us from rebellious youths into citizens who abide by and respect the law of the land.

 
During training, we were constantly reminded that our work as aircraft technicians placed an awesome responsibility on our shoulders. The lives of airmen who flew in the aircraft we maintained and serviced were dependent on our dedication and conscientiousness. Careless work could very easily result in the failure of an aircraft to return from a sortie, with all the horrific implications involved. If we knew of anything that endangered an aircraft and its crew, we were aware of our moral duty to make that fact known, even if it meant exposing ourselves to the displeasure of others. One person in my experience did not abide by this code of conduct, as related earlier in the narrative, by failing to report that he had lost a tool in an aircraft cockpit. The result was almost disastrous for the pilot, who fortunately survived the incident. The person in question was justifiably banned from ever working on aircraft again. That was an isolated occurrence, however—every other aircraft technician that I ever worked with always upheld the strong tradition of responsibility for the lives of those who depended on his work. As Boy Entrants, however, it was implanted within us at a very early stage in our development, to remain there always.

  The experience of successfully passing out of Boy Entrant training gave me a strong sense of direction. There was now a ladder which I could climb, with every rung attained by the achievement of clearly defined goals. To climb up the ladder one step at a time, it was necessary to gain increasingly higher levels of knowledge and experience. The experience came from spending a requisite amount of time on each rung, whilst evidence that the required level of knowledge had been acquired was proven by taking trade tests, sometimes after a further formal course of study. The same sense of direction led me to pursue further education during and after my transition to civilian life, and gave me the confidence to diversify my work experience into other fields, resulting in a long and successful civilian career.

  All of this was more than I could have hoped for. As a naïve 15-year-old, the most I wanted was to learn a trade that I could follow after leaving the Service, but happily I got more than I bargained for. And so, if I had to do it all over again—I most certainly would.

  Appendix 1

  Life After Boy Entrants

  In my RAF career, I progressed from Electrical Mechanic to Electrical Fitter and from Leading Aircraftman to Sergeant. I spent four years in Flying Training Command at Cranwell, then trained on Vulcan bombers prior to an expected posting to Florida as a member of the Skybolt Nuclear Stand-off Missile Trials Team. In December 1962, however, Skybolt was cancelled by the then Prime Minister, Harold MacMillan and President Kennedy. This was a great personal disappointment, but the upside was that I had finally escaped from Cranwell and subsequently worked on Vulcans, in Bomber Command, for the rest of my service—except for two interludes. In 1964, shortly after marrying my wife Pam, I was selected to take part in the trials of the P1127 Kestrel vertical take-off fighter—the prototype of the now famous Harrier STOL aircraft. At the end of the year-long trials I returned to Bomber Command but in 1966 I had an unaccompanied two-month stint in Borneo, followed by a 2-year posting to RAF Changi, Singapore, accompanied by Pam.

  In 1968 I returned to Bomber Command and RAF Scampton. There were now just two years remaining in the twelve years of regular RAF service for which I had enlisted when the realization came that I needed more qualifications to further my career in civilian life. To accomplish that purpose, I successfully completed a course of instruction for an Ordinary National Certificate in Electrical Engineering, and continued with partial completion of the Higher National Certificate (HNC) course before leaving the RAF in February 1971 on my thirtieth birthday. I then gained a position as Electrical Draughtsman with a Lincoln company specialising in the manufacture of industrial gas turbine engines. My new company allowed me to complete my HNC and on achieving that qualification, I was promoted to Electrical Engineer. I stayed with the company for six years, during which time my two daughters came into the world. The economic demands of a small family ate up all our financial reserves and I tried taxi driving in the evenings to supplement my income, but the hours were long and the financial rewards not encouraging. I then took a 12-month contract as a Project Engineer with the Arabian American Oil Company in Saudi Arabia. The conditions were Spartan but the salary was easily four times what I had been earning in Lincoln. At the end of my contract I was offered a job as Applications Engineer in Houston, Texas, at a facility owned by my former Lincoln employer, and on February 15, 1979 flew to Houston with my wife Pam and daughters Michelle (7) and Sarah (5). Pam and I agreed that we would stay for only one year in Houston, to see how things worked out. As it happened, things worked out quite well, and we’re still in the USA more than 30 years later.

  I worked in Houston for the Lincoln-based company for two years and then accepted an attractive offer of employment with another company as Project Engineer. The new company was based in San Diego, California and in 1985 I was transferred there with promotion to Project Manager. Project Management suited me and I remained in that field of work with the same company for 19 years, before accepting early retirement in the year 2000. Since then we have continued to live in San Diego and have the good fortune to be near our two daughters, and five grandchildren, who also live in the San Diego area. Since retiring, I have developed another career as an engineering consultant to my former employer and am also the operator of a small employment agency business.

  I look back on all of this with a feeling of satisfaction for having had a successful life and career and firmly believe that it was only made possible by the Boy Entrant training I received all those years ago.

  Appendix 2

  The Fate of the Woodvale Spitfires

  Whilst researching background material for this book, I discovered that the RAF Woodvale Spitfires eventually found their way to the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, where two of them still thrill people to this day, as they thrilled me all those years ago. Here follows a brief history, excerpted from various sources.

  The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight was born at RAF Biggin Hill as the Historic Aircraft Flight on 11 July 1957. On that date, three Spitfire PR Mk XIXs (PM631, PM853 and PS915) arrived in formation from RAF Woodvale via RAF Duxford, to join the sole surviving Hurricane (LF363). PS915 was immediately swapped for a Spitfire Mk XVI (TE330) on gate-guard duties at RAF West Malling, and then continued in that line of work later at RAF Leuchars and later again at RAF Brawdy. Some time later, the Flight moved to RAF North Weald for a short time and then to RAF Martlesham Heath, during which time PS853 also went to gate-guard duties, this time at RAF West Raynham.

  After a short time at Horsham St. Faith (Norwich Airport), the Flight moved to RAF Coltishall in 1963, and shortly thereafter, Spitfire PS853 was returned to it. Coltishall then served as the Flight’s home for the next 13 years.

  In 1973, the Flight was renamed the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, and in 1976 it relocated to its present home at RAF Coningsby.

  Spitfire PS915 returned to the Flight in 1987, after being refurbished, but sadly, Spitfire PS853 was offered for auction to pay for the rebuilding of the original Flight member, Hurricane LF363. Then, during the winter of 1997, PS915 underwent major servicing at RAF St. Athan.

  After leaving the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight in 1987, PS853 was grounded until 1989 and then, following extensive work, was fitted with a modified Rolls-Royce Griffon engine giving it a top speed of 439 mph and a ceiling of 45,000 feet. The re-engined Spitfire took to the air once again on 20 July 1989. In 1995, the aircraft was bought by a private individual, but it went up for sale a few months later, after his unfortunate death in a flying accident. The aircraft was bought by the Rolls-Royce Heritage Trust in September 1996 and is based at Filton Airfield, just across the road from the Rolls-Royce facilities in Bristol.

  Appendix 3

  High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

  This inspiring poem is reproduced in full below, followed by a brief history of its author and how he came to wri
te it.

  Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

  And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings,

  Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

  Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things

  You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

  High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

  I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

  My eager craft through footless halls of air.

  Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

  I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

  Where never lark, or even eagle flew –

  And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

  The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

  Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

  The following is a history of the author and his poem:

  “During the dark days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight Hitler’s Germany.

  John Gillespie Magee, Jr. was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922, Magee was just an 18-year-old when he entered flight training. Within the year, he was sent to England and posted to the newly formed No. 412 Fighter Squadron, RCAF, which was activated at RAF Digby on 30 June 1941. He was qualified on and flew the Supermarine Spitfire.